Ocean&Oxygen
by BluuSpark
Summary: EDIT** CH.1 has been replaced after some discrepancies.** Annie Copes with motherhood alone, struggling to remain sane in a world without her oxygen. How did she ever agree to this? She should have known that in a world riddled with war that there would be no true happy ending, yet here she stands, saying "I do" to the love of her life. Her only stability in an unstable world.
1. Before 1

"Let's have a baby."

My heart begins to skip beats, my air catches in my throat. I can't swallow this lump of anxiety that's choking me out as I lay underneath my newlywed husband.

"W-what was that you said?" I didn't mean to stutter. The urge to cover my ears and curl into a ball is overwhelming. This is not what consummating the marriage is supposed to be like.

"A baby… let's make one." Finnick smiles at me, devilish and seductive. He specialty.

"Oh Finnick…" My eyes water up. How can he even be thinking of something like that at a time like this? Our wedding was almost a miracle in and of itself. How am I supposed to tell him no? We've waited so many years to be husband and wife… so many years of fear between us wasted. I felt so unstable, and so guilty. Meanwhile the Captial is selling the man of my dreams' body for profit and fun.

"Oh Annie." He mocks me in his childish tone. I feel him kiss me, lightly at first, then more and more like a dehydrated animal

And I am his water. He is my gravity.

He keeps me so grounded in a world where I constantly drift off. Annie the space-case freak show. Laughing stock of Panem. My mind is afloat with rude, intrusive and unwanted memories of Hunger Games past. Rebels who died to save me, the tortured nights inflicted by the Capital just to hurt my husband. The torture… the replaying of my games… they keep replaying the beheading of my district partner. The horror painted on my face reflects over and over again and I scream. I scream until I think the pain goes away. They use barbed wire to tie my hands to the ground, cutting knicks in my skin and pouring salt into the wounds.

"Annie?"

I have drifted too far from the moment, my hands have found my way over my ears. I tried so hard to resist, but now I have to give in to the anxiety. Finnick is no longer above me, but beside me, pulling my curled up body into his. I bask in his warmth and safety and begin counting the way I learned in therapy:

1… I am safe.

Breathe.

2… I am no longer in the games. I am safe in my home.

Breathe again, deeper this time.

"Annie, nothing can hurt you. I will always be here to protect you. I will always be here for you and our children. Nothing will ever change that."

My counting is interrupted by such confident words of love and promise. My gravity pulls me back to Earth again and I feel my muscles begin to unlatch from their locked position of trauma. I roll over so that I am facing my husband, his sea-green eyes pouring over me.

"So about that baby?" he smirks at me, his fingers drumming against my bare rib cage lightly pressuring me.

I kiss him, not wanting to tell him I am scared. We have come so far from the days before the rebellion... and wouldn't it just be a spit in the face of the Capitol if we brought forth beautiful life in all of this chaos? His kisses deepen, fingers caressing my ribs ever softly. Finnick pushes himself over me, pausing the kiss only to whisper "I love you Annie Odair." before taking over my body with the love and passion of 1000 paintings hung in an endless gallery.

Annie Odair, wife of the most desired man in the Capitol. Wouldn't the rich, women full of secrets who bought his body just die?

As the moment passes, Finnick kisses me goodnight, pulling my body into his and falls into a light sleep. I would give anything to find that comfort so quickly. I know my jealously is unfounded – his nights were spent awake and in despair as well as mine have. Our only relief has been in each other until tonight. His resolve to become a father has become my distress.

Am I stable enough to be a mother? What if I slip up again? My mind races through all of the what-ifs as I squeeze my eyes shut, begging for sleep to silence my anxiety.

Soon, I am dreaming. We are on a long stretch of white sand – the beach back in our District 4 home just behind the Victors Village. The sun is beginning to dip low in the horizon, paint the clouds wonderful shades of pink and orange. There is a little carrot top toddler, a girl. She dances at the waves edge, giggling as the salt water crashes across her feet, licking at her toes. Finnick sits behind her, eyeing her protectively. "Daddy, look I can swim!" she squeals as a wave approaches. He smirks, "Swim my little fish!" The little redheaded girl throws herself into the water belly first, "oofing" as the salt water splashes up in to her sun tanned face. Finnick has to hold back a laugh as the girl, our daughter, frantically kicks her feet, her tummy dragging in the waterlogged sand rather than skimming across the ocean water. "Good job baby girl." He laughs. They are just so happy, so perfect. My dream breaks, shatters. I am screaming "Run! Run please, run!" A wave rises up from the sea, as if it were a Capital mutt. Its red and angry… and rushes towards my family, hungry. Finnick runs, but our daughter falls behind. He grabs her, tosses her up on the shore to me and the wave swallows him whole. The furious wave recedes, satisfied and I am standing in the sand screaming, begging…

Screaming.

"Annie? Annie!" Finnick shakes me awake, I am sweating and balled up crying.

"Tell me about your dream. You are safe now. I am here to protect you." He kisses me as I recount my horrifying tale to him. He frowns deeply and kisses away my tears, then wipes away my sweat with the sheet. I look around. We are still in our cold,, underground District 13 compartment. Its dark and still in the early hours of the day. I am safe. I start counting just to be sure.

"You never have to worry, I will always be here for you and the kids. You're safe now."

"_You're safe now."_

"_I will always be here for you and the kids."_

His words still haunt me.

"_I will always be here."_

I want to scream "LIAR" at his memory.

"_Always be here."_

Why did you leave me?

"_Always."_


	2. Before 2

Its funny how quickly the nausea and vomiting sets in after pregnancy begins. My stomach rolls against and I press my cheek against the cold seat of the metal toilet. Finnick is gone off on a rebel mission so I find myself spending more and more time in my compartment buried deep below the surface of the world. There isn't anyone here I really want to talk to anyway… so I just spend my time here, hunched over the toilet, wondering what this little spawn could possibly be doing inside of me to cause so much sickness.

Some days are harder than others. Pregnancy has really taken a toll on my mentality on life. The days I used to want to curl up in a ball and die have gone, but have left a guilty conscious in their wake. I can't feel numb anymore because my body is constantly moving, changing. My pale thinned skin has been replaced by a tough round bump where a malnourished stomach used to sink inwards. The president has doubled my rations, ensuring that I see a doctor every week to make sure I am giving the baby proper nutrition, and that my mental state hasn't further deteriorated.

I find myself mumbling to the baby when I am stressed. When I become stretched too thin I talk to it as if it were Finny himself. I tell the baby all of my worries about his or her future, about the way the new capital will be if we succeed in this war. I feel more hope than I have in years when I talk to the baby. I spend days wondering why I was ever scared to bring life into this world.

But then there are the bad days… days when I hate myself for bringing life into the unpredictable future ahead of us. Oh and the pressure! There is so much pressure to reproduce over and over again to repopulate a dwindling world, especially since there are so many sterile people in District 13. Finnick would joke and say "Gladly!" and touch my stomach.

He once called it a vessel of perfection. The intimate moments of silence and staring we would share in the days where we showered together still ring true in my memories. He caressed my stomach, my chest, my lips. I touched every scar that remained from the Hunger Games. I willed myself to reach beyond the surface of his skin and caress the mental scars that could never be erased. I wished more than anything I could kiss away the nightmares that plagued us both. I find solace in his deep sea green eyes, and he found paradise tangled up with me, skin to skin.

I finally pull myself up off the tile floor of the sterile white bathroom, wipe my mouth off with my sleeve and brush my teeth. I look down at the schedule on my arm, _1800 dinner._ The thought of food makes my stomach roll again, and before my brain can trick me into getting sick, I remove myself from the compartment I share with my husband and walk down the hall to the elevators that carry the residents of District 13 to the cafeteria.

The room is abuzz with the news of the rebel front's efforts against the Capital and Peacekeepers. I hear a whisper of people dying as my tray is loaded up with rice and a sloppy almost grey-like bean stew. Delicious…

"Didn't you hear? They called Peeta to the capitol!" One woman says as I walk past her.

"No! Didn't he try to kill the Mockingjay? Why would they send him to fight beside her?" a young man responds to the woman. I find myself staring at them, frozen in time. I can feel the frustration at the people behind me. I'm holding up the line, but I can't stop listening.

"Yes, one of the Leeg twins was killed, they needed a replacement. It sounds like a bloodbath… I hope they get Snow quickly before more of our own die." The woman's voice breaks at the word 'bloodbath' and I find myself giggling.

Shit! Giggling… I'm slipping. My stupid, stupid brain.

I hear gasps behind me, I'm panicking. My hands fly to my ears, my tray dropping to the floor. "No, no, no." I know wasting food is violently punishable in District 13 making my panic sour through the roof. "I can't breathe!" I'm shouting, gasping for air. The floodwaters of the 70th Hunger Games are rushing in on me again, but I can't swim. I feel arms around me, carrying me out. "Finnick! Finnick please! Help me, please! Don't let them take me again!" And I succumb to the tranquiller shot into my shoulder.

"Annie?" I open my eyes to a sterile white medical center, my doctor hovering over my. I feel my hands strapped down, my feet as well. "I… I have some news."

"How many days have I been out?" I gasp, groggy, restless.

"Two, we had to make sure you were stable… for the baby, you know?" He cuts me a half hearted smile. Something is very, very wrong.

"What's going on?" I jerk my arms against the restraints, feeling them dig into my wrists, "Where is Finnick?"

"About that." The doctor sighs pinching his brow, "Hes-"

"No, don't…. No. Finnick?!" I start screaming for him, my husband with the beautiful face and the smile that fixes everything. The oxygen to my constant drowning. The gravity to my outerspace. I'm hysterical, tears are streaming down my cheeks, and I keep jerking my legs and arms against these damn restraits. I want to run, I need air, I'm struggling to breathe.

"Annie, please calm down. You will hurt the baby! Think of what Finnick would want." The doctor is pushing on my chest and my body stills, save for the body rocking sobs and moans that have replaced my screaming.

"He died for a good cause Annie. He has given his child a future." The doctor is pulling liquid into a needle, a medical approach to stilling my distressed brain and body.

"No, no, no, no…" I'm begging him not to do it. "Tell me what happened, please!" The doctor shakes his head no and injects the sleepy serum into my thigh.

_"For my one true love, I want you to know, that if I die in the arena, my last thought will be of your lips."_


	3. Nostalgia 3

"And the female tribute for the 70th Hunger Games is…"

I can feel my heart pounding in my throat. Even though most of the familes in District 4 were well off, mine was not. My father lost his leg in a fishing accident involving a trident and I was forced to take tesserae to ensure that my family was fed this year. I know one extra entry couldn't make my chances too much higher than the other girls of District 4, but I was still nervous.

"Annie Cresta! Come on up darling, congratulations!"

Oh.

I will my legs to move, I feel a peacekeeper shove me. I tip my chin upwards, try to look courageous. I feel a pair of eyes on me, a pair of eyes that I will soon beg for a wealth of information from; my mentor, Finnick Odair. He was so stunningly handsome, but being five years older than me, I had gone previously unnoticed. He was the youngest tribute in history to bring home the title of 'Victor' so maybe he could save me from this cruel, cruel punishment.

The male tribute from my district was older than me; I didn't catch his name, just the unusual dark tuft of hair on his head that you don't find from a District 4 resident. The next few minutes seem to pass so fast, and I try my best to contain my meal from this morning. I am full of anxious thoughts – will I live or die? If I win do I _truly_ win; or do I live with the haunting memories of the lives I must take in order to succeed. No, I can't kill someone! That's just… wrong. My whole body shudders at the thought of thick red oozing blood from an open surface. No… I can't.

Now we are on the train, my family has said all of their good-byes and I attempt not to sob over my cup of tea in my train compartment. A few of District 4's previous victors come in, but the most talkative is Finnick Odair., but his words just filter through my hearing like grains of sand through a too-thick gold filter.

The rest of the afternoon follows in the same fashion. I am kicking my own ass for not listening, but my body feels like it has already given up. I have already lost. I am going to die – and now I just have to come to terms with it. No more will I spend lazy weekends dipping in and out of the salty ocean, drying off in the last rays of the sun. I can't even enjoy these last moments spent on the train because God knows I am already too far from home.

"Excuse me" I mumble, dabbing my lip with a napkin, breaking the chatter amongst my fellow tribute and the mentors. I leave the dinner table and wander down to my compartment, so cold. So foreign. I strip down naked and crawl into the sheets rolling around and balling myself into them. They smell clean and feel pressed, so I take a deep whiff of the expensive Capitol laundry detergent. The detergent smells nothing like the salt ridden water we use to wash clothes back home and I feel the longing pang deeper and deeper in my chest. "Well, Annie… better enjoy it while you can." I mumble to myself against my pillow, further muffling my thoughts.

I hear a knock on the door, and before I can respond, Finnick comes into my room. I pull the sheets up higher, tucking myself in.

"You should have waited for an answer" Only my eyes are poking out above the sheets, "I'm not in decent attire for company."

Finnick smirks, "Well maybe that's a good thing, beautiful." He continues to walk to my bed and sits on the edge. "What's wrong? The impending threat of possible death overwhelming you?"

I giggle a little, the first sliver of relief I have felt since the reaping. "Possibly."

"Get dressed, I'll be back in a minute." Finnick stands and walks out without a second thought or explanation. Clumsily, I untangle myself from the sheets, tripping as I clamber out of the bed. I pull on my wrinkled reaping outfit from the morning and try to smooth out the skirt of my dress a bit before another knock comes to the door. "You decent?" I hear Finnicks muffled voice behind the metal.

"Yes!" I call back and he re-enters. "Let's start again, hm?" He grins his Cheshire grin, and throws himself into a chair in the corner of the room, biting into an apple he brought with him. I am sitting, ankles crossed, at the foot of my bed eyeing him. The silence is agonizing, so I finally ask "What did you need Mr. Odair?"

"It's Finnick, darling. Just Finnick." He nods his head at me, serious, "We're friends now, you know. We're a different breed of human, you and I. Whether you want to believe it or not, I think you can make it out alive with my help."

I scoff, breaking my quiet demeanor for the first time today. "Please, me? I've already accepted my fate." My eyes well up with tears and they begin to splat and discolor my already damaged dress. I guess it doesn't really matter anymore. "I'm scared." I look up and he's staring at me, the now eaten apple core sits on the arm of the chair he claimed.

Finnick stands and walks over to me, touching his thumb to a tear that had been been racing down the mountains and valleys of my cheek and chin. "It's okay, really. It's okay." He sits beside me, wrapping his arm around me. "Annie? That is your name, right? Annie?"

I nod into his shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably. I can feel the train slowing for fuel. "What do I do?" I moan into his white shirt. "How do I get out of this mess?"

Finnick holds me at arm's length, using little effort to prop me up in my misery, "You win, it's that easy. I'm going to protect you. You will do just fine." He smiles that fake smile, and I don't find myself believing his words. I had never been a confident girl, and this false encouragement isn't helping.

The train lurches and jerks us forward and I stumble over my crossed ankles against Finnick. Readjusting quickly and profusely apologizing, I look up to see him giggling at me. "Do I bother you, Ms. Cresta?"

I shake my head no quickly, but my face gets hot and gives off a tell-tell hue.

"You're blushing, darling." He laughs even harder. I feel frustrated, almost angry. This is not what I imagined in a mentor.

"You know, I bother _a lot_ of women." He leans in closer, almost touching his nose to mine. I notice his sea-green eyes for the first time since we've met, instantly feeling homesick. It's like his persuasive and seductive words go right through me, and all I see is the sea.

"It's like the gods poured the ocean into your eyes…" I whisper. He is breathing my air, and I see him lick his lips before he recedes away from me, his mood ebbing away like low tide in the morning. "Oh. Well… thank you." He stands readjusting himself. "I need to go and make sure we are on schedule. Try not to worry too much. Get some sleep, we start early tomorrow."

I nod and he leaves, leaving me to my bleak and tiring thoughts. In fact, I think myself to sleep. I imagine the ocean and the way it tastes. I think about the way it feels for a saltwater fish to wriggle around in my hands for the first time when I went fishing with my daddy. I think of the days when my mother would cook a stew in winter, and daddy would build a fire for us. We would sing songs of an old sea witch and play games with hooks and nickels until the night grew weary and my mother would usher me off to bed. When your time becomes limited you begin to hold the small memories closer to you instead of wasting time planning out the future. My future is bathed in red and my past is painted in the ocean's wonderful hues.


End file.
